


Give A Little Bit

by red_starshine



Series: Holidays With Chas & Constantine [8]
Category: Constantine (TV), Hellblazer & Related Fandoms
Genre: Diners, Fluff, Food, M/M, Thanksgiving, Thanksgiving Dinner, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-26
Updated: 2015-11-26
Packaged: 2018-05-03 11:20:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5288789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/red_starshine/pseuds/red_starshine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“On this fine Thanksgiving day, what are you thankful for, mate?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Give A Little Bit

John sighed, sliding into the passenger seat of Chas’s cab. His phone chimed inside the pocket of his trenchcoat. He looked down at his pocket for a moment and then reached inside, removing his phone.

“Who is it?” said Chas on the other side of the cab, pulling the cab’s keys out of his pocket.

“Zed,” said John. “She sent us a picture of the turkey and a little message: ‘Wish you two were here – we’ll try to save you a drumstick for tomorrow. No promises, though.’” His phone chimed again, and John had to hide a smile. “Think this one’s for you, mate.” He showed the phone’s screen to Chas.

Geraldine beamed at him from the table in Renee’s dining room, the plate in front of her piled high with turkey, mashed potatoes, and green beans. Part of Zed’s elbow and Jim’s hand, reaching for the cranberry sauce nearby, were visible on either side of Geraldine.

Chas smiled, absentmindedly drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.

Garrett, an old friend of John and Chas from their Mucous Membrane days, had called from Maine the day before Thanksgiving screaming his head off about some kind of evil spirit in his house that had made his wife and two young children disappear. He’d managed to get the address out before the call had suddenly and ominously cut out. Repeated calls to his cell phone and the landline number Chas had found online went unanswered.

Zed and Jim had already flown from New Orleans to Brooklyn to have Thanksgiving at Renee’s brownstone. The plan had been for John and Chas to drive up from Atlanta and meet them there, but after Garrett’s call they’d kept driving through New York, adding another seven hours onto an already long trip.

Renee had been understanding about the sudden change of plans when Chas had spoken to her over the phone. Perhaps she was slightly relieved that now there was no chance for John Constantine to get turned into a rabbit underneath her roof again. Geraldine had been saddened to hear her father and Uncle John wouldn't be able to make it to Thanksgiving dinner, but Chas had promised repeatedly to see her as soon as he could. 

Garrett’s house had been a nightmare when the two of them had arrived in Newburgh, barely tethered to the living world at all. Seventy years ago the house had been built on one of the thin spots between this reality and the next one. The recent activity of the Rising Darkness had torn a hole through the fabric of reality, ripping up the thin places until there was nothing left, and the house had begun its slow descent into unreality and madness.

The house was gone now. There was only a vacant lot where it had once stood, like the house had erased itself from time. John and Chas had managed to get the family out of the house before reality had collapsed in on itself inside, although after Garrett’s wife and children had been trapped for hours inside a place where the rules of reality and time itself no longer applied, they were somewhat stupefied by their experiences after they’d been rescued.

It’d been early morning when they’d arrived at Garrett’s house, but the sky had already started to dim when they’d dropped Garrett and his family off in front of his father’s place, his wife Kayla vacantly staring into space like she no longer recognized the real world. Chas adjusted the rearview mirror and caught a flash of Kayla’s wide eyes looking at him from the curb.

Chas twisted the key in the ignition, and the cab’s engine turned over.

Garrett lived in a small town, and most of the restaurants and businesses they passed by on narrow winding drive back to the highway were dark. Chas’s stomach rumbled, reminding him that neither himself or John had eaten an actual meal since yesterday, when they’d gotten Garrett’s desperate call for help.

A cheery yellow sign glowed in the distance on the highway. A chain diner – the last refuge of two men desperate for food.

Chas pulled into the diner’s parking lot, John staring out his window at the small building with a frown. He silently turned back to Chas and jerked his head toward the sign. “What’s all this?”

“Thought we’d have our Thanksgiving dinner,” said Chas, turning off the engine. “Unless you want to eat cold Chinese take-out in the cab again.”

“Not particularly,” said John with a grimace, unbuckling his seatbelt.

There were only a few other cars in the lot, and when Chas opened the door to the diner, it was into an empty dining room. The sound of hamburgers sizzling in the kitchen was the only indication that there were other people in the building.

“Glad we beat the rush,” said John under his breath. Chas tried not to snicker as the waiter, a young man in his early twenties, came out of the kitchen. He grabbed two menus from the wooden podium near the door.

“Hi there. Two?”

Chas nodded, and the waiter lead them to a booth in the corner of the dining room. He placed the two menus on the table. “I’ll be right back to take your drinks order,” he said, vanishing back into the kitchen.

“Poor kid,” said Chas, glancing back at the kitchen, where the waiter was talking to one of the chefs. “Hope they’re paying him well for making him work on Thanksgiving.”

John had his menu open and was leafing through the pages without much interest. “I’m sure he’ll be fine. You can leave him a nice big tip if you’re that concerned.” He paused, a crease appearing between his eyebrows. He turned the menu towards Chas, pointing towards a picture of one of the sandwiches. “Christ. They have a grilled cheese sandwich with four deep-fried mozzarella sticks in the middle,” he said in confusion. “Why is that something that exists, and that a human being could conceivably want to order?”

“Is that really any worse than a pie topped with fish heads?” said Chas tiredly.

John rolled his eyes, reaching into the pocket of his trenchcoat. He pulled out a Silk Cut and his lighter. “Think we’d get kicked out if I light up?”

“You’re not supposed to,” said Chas, looking through the menu, knowing full well that John would light his cigarette no matter what he said. A platter of sliced turkey covered in gravy was at the top of the entree page – a far cry from the eighteen-pound turkey basted with slices of bacon that everyone else had enjoyed in Brooklyn, but it might make a decent substitute.

John stuck the cigarette in his mouth and flicked his lighter open. He grinned as he lit the cigarette and took a long drag from it, leaning back against the vinyl cushion.

The waiter returned with a pad and dutifully ignored John’s lit cigarette. “Can I get you something to drink? Or are you ready to order?”

“Ginger ale,” said Chas. “And the turkey dinner, please.”

“What kind of beers d’ya have?” said John as the waiter wrote down Chas’s order.

The waiter winced. “We, uh, actually don’t serve alcohol.”

John took his cigarette out of his mouth and stared at the waiter like he’d spoken a long string of gibberish. “Are you bloody serious? Not even the cheap shite?”

“Sorry. Corporate policy.” The waiter took a half-step back from the table, like he was afraid John would leap from the booth and try to strangle him. The waiter halfheartedly shrugged his shoulders and said weakly, “Um, but we do have milkshakes?”

John leaned back into the seat, deathly quiet, like he was thinking of a particularly nasty hex to place on the poor waiter.

Chas reached over and placed one of his hands on John’s. When John turned his head slightly, Chas mouthed ‘be nice’. John only listened to him sometimes, but Chas was trying to not make the waiter’s day any more worse than it already was.

John shook his head, apparently willing to let the matter drop. “Coffee, black. And the fish and chips,” he muttered.

The waiter scribbled something down on his pad, and then nervously darted back into the kitchen. Chas watched him go and mentally added another five dollars onto his tip.

Their drinks came in less than two minutes. The waiter’s hand was trembling slightly when he placed the glass of ginger ale on the table, and then the slightly chipped mug of coffee. Chas’s turkey and John’s fish and chips arrived less than fifteen minutes later, the waiter dropping them off and then nearly sprinting back to the kitchen.

John stubbed out his cigarette on the saucer of the coffee mug and looked down at his entree. He pushed some of the fries around on his plate without enthusiasm and then took an experimental bite of one. “Soggy chips. Splendid. ” He took a small bite of the beer-battered fish, chewed, and then let out an exasperated sigh. “Ugh. And the fish is lukewarm. Your fish fry is loads better.”

Chas tried to suppress a grin. Maybe he did spoil John when it came to food. He nudged the glass bottle of ketchup on the tabletop over to John. “Smother the fries in this and you won’t notice if they’re soggy.”

John unscrewed the bottle cap and let the ketchup slowly dribble out of the bottle and onto the fries. “On this fine Thanksgiving day, what are you thankful for, mate?” he said snidely, picking up his knife to get the ketchup out faster.

John had asked the question sarcastically, but Chas paused in the middle of cutting the turkey on his plate. What was he thankful for?

“Let’s see,” said Chas, putting the silverware down. “I’m thankful that we managed to get Garrett and his family out of that mess alive.” Even if it had thrown a wrench into his plans for Thanksgiving. “I’m thankful that I have my friends, like Zed. Thankful that I have Geraldine and that Faust isn’t going to hurt anyone else. I’m thankful that I’m still here to see Geraldine grow up. And I’m thankful that I have you.”

“Have me?” John snorted and shook his head, placing the ketchup bottle back down on the table. “Nah. Nobody’s thankful about that, mate. After all - bad luck, knowin’ me.”

“I am thankful,” said Chas, reaching for John’s hand again. He ran his thumb over John’s knuckles soothingly. “You’re an enormous asshole. But you’re my stupid arrogant asshole. So yes, I’m glad I have you, even if you can be a sneaky pain in the ass.”

John glanced down, away from Chas, trying to hide the small smile on his face. John leaned over the table to give Chas a quick kiss on the cheek, his lips there and gone in an instant.

Chas felt his cheeks turn red.

“If I were the kind of man to say what he was thankful for,” said John under his breath, his mouth still tantalizingly close to Chas’s. He didn’t quite manage to meet Chas’s eyes. “You’d be at the very top of the list. Just so you know.”

Chas’s expression softened, and he gently lifted John’s chin up. “I know.”


End file.
